"Oh, well, I'll come with you if you like," said M. de Rueille, putting his book down on a side-table.
He followed Bijou without speaking, as she trotted along in front of him. She looked so sweet, going backwards and forwards amongst the great pails of milk; her straw hat, covered with lace, tossed carelessly on her fair hair; her morning dress, of pink batiste, fastened up rather high with a safety-pin.
She inspected everything, gave her orders, and settled all kinds of details, without troubling about her cousin any more than if he did not exist; and then, when she had quite finished, she turned towards him, smiling.
"Now, then," she said, "if you would like a stroll, I am at your service." She turned into one of the garden paths that led to the avenues, and then added, as she looked up at Paul, "I'm listening!"
"You are listening? What do you want me to say?"
"I thought you were going to tell me why you were so bad-tempered yesterday; you said it was my fault."
"Well, it was; you were—" he began, in an embarrassed way; and then he continued, in desperation, "the way you went on, it was not at all like you generally are, nor like you ought to be!"
"Ah! what did I do then?"
"Well, in the first place, you insisted, in the most extraordinary way, that Bernès should come on to the coach when we met him. Why did you insist like that?"
"Well, it is natural enough when you meet anyone walking a mile away from where you are driving yourself, that you should offer to pick him up; it seems to me that it would be odd, on the contrary, not to offer to pick him up!"